My Kingdom for a Horse!
by lily22
Summary: While the Shadow Games must no doubt be stopped, there are still more mundane battles, such as the ubiquitous struggle for power that all rulers are faced with. Atemu must do anything he can to keep the throne. It is not a matter of choice.
1. Day 15

**Title: **My Kingdom for a Horse!

**Rating:** PG-13 for violence and character death.

**Summary: **The pharaoh must stay in power until the Millennium Items can be created; it is the only way to stop the Shadow Games from destroying the world. But meanwhile there are the more mundane battles, between man and man, and what you lose in these is not your soul; it is your life. These are the battles where courage and strength are not enough, where people don't wait their turn, where sacrificing one soldier will not bring in another, and screaming "Mirror Force!" will not protect you from the onslaught. These are the battles in which a friend today could well be an enemy tomorrow, so you might as well kill him now. When the pharaoh learns that within a month one of his own family members will destroy him, what choice does he have? He must destroy them first.

* * *

**Day 15 **(at most 15 days remaining) 

It was very dark.

Mokuba suspected that this was to make the experience as unpleasant for him as possible. It was amazing how his senses had heightened with vision taken away; every distant footfall was an earthquake, every low murmur thunder. Even his own breathing sounded harsh and deafening in his ears… but at least it meant he was still alive.

It could've been worse, he supposed. The temperature was decent. Dungeons were usually freezing cold, weren't they? Even if the ground was a bit cold, at least it felt smooth and clean, not gritty like he'd expected it to be. The wall didn't bite into his shoulder blades when he leaned gingerly back against it. (He ran a hand along its surface. It wasn't rough at all.) And most importantly of all, there weren't, well, rats and things, skittering around, or spider webs lying in wait, ready to ambush an unsuspecting hand, cautiously probing in order to get some sort of bearing on the surroundings. Mokuba seemed to be alone in the room, for better or for worse.

Oh, another important thing: Mokuba wasn't chained up, although this might have been more of an insult than a benefaction.

As Mokuba waited, he wondered what he would do when the waiting was over. He would have to be strong, he decided. For Seto, he would be brave, he would not show fear…

_click_

Mokuba paled, straining his eyes in an attempt to see through the darkness. That hadn't been the lock, had it? No, it was too soon, he didn't want to die yet…

The door opened slowly, momentarily blinding Mokuba with the light. By the time he could take his arm from his face, the door had already closed, the light gone. In that brief moment, though, Mokuba had seen a figure in the doorway—no face, but it had been enough. Mokuba knew who it was immediately.

A pharaoh was distinctive in every way, even his silhouette.

Now Mokuba was blind again but he could still listen. Where he had strained his eyes before, now he strained his ears, listening, listening… But he couldn't hear a thing. Was his sense of hearing malfunctioning?

An eternity passed before he heard the first footstep, shortly followed by another. They were sedate, unhurried: a pharaoh never rushed.

"Mokuba," said the pharaoh, and Mokuba nearly choked. "How are you doing?"

The voice was exactly the way Mokuba expected a pharaoh's voice to sound, when he really thought about it. The words were spoken with a lazy sort of grace, like a cat stretching or perhaps a cobra raising its head, but there was a hint of cruelty, of steel. Although the way he spoke there was no question of disobedience, the voice was soft, almost a whisper; the pharaoh knew how to command submission without so much as raising his voice.

Mokuba did not know what to say. Before, he had pleaded, he had threatened what his brother would do when he found out, but it was hopeless now. The pharaoh himself was visiting Mokuba, and that could only mean one thing…

"Hm," said the pharaoh. "Not in a talkative mood? I wonder if there's anything I might do that would change your mind?"

And suddenly Mokuba knew that he would talk, eventually. The pharaoh wouldn't even have to force him in any way. Mokuba knew he would talk until he was blue in the face if it meant he would stay alive for another hour, another minute, another second. Mokuba knew he would say anything to delay the inevitable, to greedily soak up what little life he could scrounge. The knowledge shamed Mokuba, but all the same, he found his lips moving.

"Why should I talk?"

"Why, Mokuba…" The pharaoh's presence neared. Mokuba tried to recoil but he couldn't very well lean backwards through the wall. "…because there's so much you could tell me, of course."

"What do…" Mokuba tried to snap but found a quaver in his voice. No, he had to be brave, brave for Seto. He couldn't show his fear. "What do you want to know?" he tried again.

"Mm," said the pharaoh slowly. "Quite a lot, actually. For example, your brother, he has a, ah, Gift, does he not?"

Mokuba gasped. _You did not talk about ah-Gifts. _Even the almighty pharaoh had hesitated in posing the question, and for good reason. Mentioning Gifts was grave solecism, and actually asking about them was unthinkable. Then again, thought Mokuba, this was the pharaoh. What _couldn't_ a pharaoh do?

Even worse than this breach in etiquette, however, was the realization that was currently striking Mokuba like a half-brick. The pharaoh was using him to find out more about Seto. And worse still was the fact that Mokuba was going to comply without protest. He had always thought that he would resist if the time came, would rather suffer terrible agonies and death than betray his brother, but now that he was being put to the test, he was failing ingloriously before it had even really begun, simply because he was afraid to die. It was with a deep sense of self-loathing that Mokuba considered the pharaoh's question, mentally begging his brother to forgive him.

There was no denying that Seto did have a Gift. They tried to hide it, because such a thing was rare and quite frankly people looked at you funny if they knew, but Mokuba had watched water turn to ice in Seto's hands and there was no contesting evidence like that.

"Yes," said Mokuba, in a small voice.

"Mm," said the pharaoh in a noncommittal manner, suggesting that he had already known anyway. Mokuba felt marginally better. "And, although I realize that the Gift rarely strikes twice, so to speak, I do feel I must ask: do you also possess one?"

Mokuba's mouth moved silently a few times before anything would come out. Hoarsely: "No."

"No, Mokuba?" Mokuba could imagine the exquisite eyebrows working. "Not at all?"

"No."

"Hm," said the pharaoh. No other words followed, and silence descended to fill in the empty space.

Mokuba waited uneasily. The pharaoh was uncomfortably close, close enough that Mokuba could feel his presence, stoic and still and very, very patient.

"Well, maybe I do," said Mokuba finally, driven by nervousness. "Seto says I can make things, I don't know, _glow_. I can… bring the light into things. Sometimes he'll pass me a bit of ice and I'll put my hands over it and it'll start… shining. I don't know why, I don't think it's even a gift at all, I haven't been able to do it with anything else…"

"Here, Mokuba." Something cool and hard was pressed into his hands. "I am not Seto Kaiba, and cannot make nor maintain ice at room temperature. We're just going to have to make do with the next best thing. This is crystal, carefully cut, with no impurities. Can you make it glow?"

He knew, thought Mokuba, sucking in air. The pharaoh had known all the answers before he'd even asked the questions. Although Mokuba was happy that he hadn't betrayed his brother after all, he also felt slightly put out. He tried to focus on the crystal in his hands. Anything to live a little longer, right? He tried to pretend it was one of Seto's beautiful ice sculptures (once Seto had made one to look like the two of them and even though one of the spikes of Mokuba's hair had broken when he had tried to put the light in it had still been the most amazing thing he'd ever seen), but it wasn't the same, it didn't call to him the way Seto's ice did… And that was another thing; Mokuba could tell the difference between normal ice and ice that Seto had made because the ice Seto made was friendlier and readily accepted the light where normal ice just ignored him the way this crystal was…

"Ah!" cried Mokuba, because suddenly there was light. It hurt slightly because the crystal didn't want his light inside it but Mokuba had to keep it in…

"Mm," said the pharaoh, and Mokuba saw suddenly that the pharaoh's eyes were shining but weary, that his face was cold but very, very young… "It seems such a shame," he said, voice dropping in volume with every syllable. "It seems such a shame to have to put this talent to waste…"

What are you talking about? Mokuba wanted to ask, I'm not wasting this talent.

It took only a second more before it sunk in, and Mokuba felt his heart race, his breathing hitch, his muscles all tighten.

"Tell me, Mokuba," said the pharaoh, "can you take this light back out of the crystal?"

Mokuba could only nod dumbly. It was a relief to be able to stop holding the light in but he was afraid of what would happen next and in the dark he wouldn't be able to see it coming.

"Good boy," said the pharaoh. "Now, I have one last thing to ask of you—"

"Wait!" said Mokuba, all but bursting into tears. "Wait, can you… can you tell Seto I said… I said… I love him… and, and I'm sorry… and I'll miss him… and…"

Mokuba expected the pharaoh to laugh coldly, to refuse, to ignore the outburst. Instead, the pharaoh repeated, "You love him, you're sorry, and you'll miss him? Is there anything else?"

"I… I… I wanted to thank him. For everything he's done for me."

"You love him, you're sorry, you'll miss him, and you wanted to thank him for everything he's done for you. I understand." The pharaoh gently patted Mokuba's shoulder. "I'll deliver the message personally. Now, can you look at me?"

"What?"

"You saw me when we had the light. You remember where my eyes are. Look at me." Swallowing heavily, Mokuba did. At first all he saw was darkness, but as he searched, his gaze locked with something unseen. Eyes seemed to solidify before him, red and impassive. "Don't look away, Mokuba," said the voice. Mokuba knew he couldn't even if he'd wanted to. The eyes moved, and Mokuba's gaze was inexorably drawn to follow them as they rose. Something wet landed on Mokuba's cheek—sweat? blood?—but he couldn't focus enough to figure out what it might be. Something cold touched his throat, but it was surprisingly painless. He thought he heard someone scream, but he hardly spared it a second thought. All he could focus on were the red eyes, the red eyes, slowly fading to black.

* * *

Outside the room, the guards listened to the scream, and winced. 

"Does that sound kind of… low to you?" said one.

"What do you mean?" said another.

"Well, it sounds kind of… adult. And it's just a kid in there."

"What, are you saying the kid's killed our pharaoh (may he reign a thousand years)?"

"No, no. But you have to admit it sounds like of like our pharaoh (wise and beautiful beyond all peers)."

"Don't be stupid. It can't happen."

"Yeah, but what if?"

"Well, what if? Do _you_ want to go in there and check?"

"No way."

"Me neither. The pharaoh (blessed and sacred be his name) is on his own."

* * *

In only two weeks, Pharaoh Atemu the Yuugiou had earned a reputation as the bloodiest pharaoh the kingdom had ever seen. To eliminate contenders for the throne, the pharaoh had methodically gone and killed all his male blood relatives. 

The strange thing was that, before the two weeks, Yuugiou had been widely regarded as a capable and just ruler, and there was even talk of Egypt entering its "Golden Age" under his rule. It certainly was more peaceful.

Ah well, people said. It was all the power. It went to your head. Someone hurry up and kill him so we can get on with the next ruler already. And pass the ale, would you?

* * *

Atemu held on through the intense pain until he was sure Mokuba was dead. With as much care as possible under the circumstances, he set the boy on the floor. Immediately heslammed his hand into his mouth, biting down hard somewhere between wrist and thumb to muffle his scream. When he felt he could, Atemu struggled up, using his free hand and the wall for support. Only after he had leaned against the wall for a while did he dare extricate his hand from his mouth. This was done with some difficulty as his teeth seemed to have locked in place, but he finally managed it, taking deep, ragged breaths. He rubbed his hand on the royal robes and leaned his head back against the wall, hearing the crown clink, feeling the coolness spread across his scalp. 

When his breathing returned to normal, he straightened up, adjusted his clothing, lightly touched his face and hair to make sure he was presentable, and left the room.

"Guards," he told them, voice clipped. "Take care of Mokuba's body. Clean him up but don't embalm him yet. Seto will come asking for him when he finds out what happened. Let him have the body, pay for a burial, and not just a _decent_ burial either, I want a good one as befits a member of my bloodline. If Seto asks for anything else, give it to him, within reason of course, but whatever you do, don't promise him a word with me. Understood?"

"Understood," intoned his guards.

Nodding imperatively, Atemu walked away, trying to keep up a semblance of calm.

* * *

"Hail Yuugiou our pharaoh, the Morning and Evening Star, son of—" 

"Quit it," snapped Atemu, brushing past his retainers and into the house, calling over his shoulder, "and there's no need to follow me either, but since I know you're not going to leave me alone anyway, you might as well wait in the hallway while I talk with Mahaado, rather than hiding in the fountains like last time." Atemu sighed as his guards contrived to look innocent. "Yes, I saw you, and I'm not going to believe it was just a duck, either."

He turned away, trying again to muster composure. A pharaoh did not lose his temper, he acted with dignity and—

"My pharaoh!" cried Mahaado as the door opened. Atemu hurried inside to escape his guards' prying eyes and closed the door behind him. Mahaado, meanwhile, kneeled and bowed.

"Mahaado," said Atemu reprovingly, shaking his head and taking Mahaado firmly by the shoulders. "You know there's no need for that."

"As you know that, should you ever demand obeisance, I would be on my knees immediately."

"Right, I'll remember that," said Atemu, sitting down. Instantly, the chair was _his_. Only the pharaoh could make possession of a chair look so regal.

"How's the war going?" asked Mahaado, as he seated himself back behind his desk.

"I feel so foolish running around from one end of the battle to the other. I feel like someone's tipping the world like a see-saw and I'm just tumbling back and forth… but at least it means I can pass through the capital on my way to the next skirmish and check in with you. How are the genealogies coming?"

"They're coming," said Mahaado. "I've managed to trace your line back another 2 generations since your last visit, but most of them seem to be dead."

"Thank the gods," said Atemu. "Or thank me. Whatever. I don't think I can take much more of this, Mahaado."

"Why must you insist on killing them all yourself?" asked Mahaado, looking concerned. "You know you could get countless other people to do it for you. Look how much it's draining you. You're so pale… Here, let me get you some tea…"

"It's… something I must do," said Atemu. "Thank you," he added, accepting the tea. Taking a long drink, he felt himself relax, slightly. "Who else is left?"

Mahaado nodded, all business now, scrutinizing the papyrus that stretched from one end of his desk to the other, covered with names and lines and "married to"s. "Did you… take care of the Kaiba brothers?"

"Only Mokuba," said Atemu. "That was hard enough. I kept trying to convince myself he was only a boy, what harm could he do… But remember Pharaoh Ratek the Fourth (praise be his, forever and ever), how he was usurped by a nomadic tribe using his eight-year-old cousin as a figurehead. And the first Ratek, too (full of grace and clemency); one of his daughters used her— their— son to take the throne when the child was only five… I could go on with these all day, Mahaado, but the point is, well, I had to kill him."

Mahaado nodded grimly, and withdrew a jar of red paint from his desk. With his brush he carefully made a thick, red slash on the papyrus, over the name Mokuba Kaiba. There was a depressing abundance of red on the paper, fanning out from the central name, written in black, which was Atemu's own.

"As far as we know at the moment, that leaves Seto Kaiba… Katsuya Jounouchi… Oh yes, remember Ryou? Ryou Bakura? He was another one with a… well, you know. He could just disappear from sight? Yeah, I've been searching, and I finally found his brother. At least, I found the village he lives in. I couldn't find whether or not he's alive, though." Mahaado continued looking over the paper. "And… Yes, there seem to be just those three left. And, of course, myself."

"Mahaado…"

"You know I would never betray you, my pharaoh, but I also know that you must do what you must do. I only ask that you wait until I've finished the genealogies, so that I can die knowing I've served my purpose."

"Mahaado, no…" Atemu felt like burying his face in his hands and only the strictest of pharaonic training prevented him from doing so. He struggled to calm himself yet again. "You're not helping, you know," Atemu said finally, with as much nonchalance as he could summon, and took a sip of tea.

"I'm sorry. Say, are we winning the war?"

"I don't think so. It seems endless."

"Well, if the prophecy was right…"

"Yes, if the prophecy was right. I don't even know if I should hope the prophecy is right or not anymore."

"I understand."

Atemu set the cup down. "Anyway, I should go. I'll be back in a day or so. Have you sent someone to fetch Katsuya?"

"No, I haven't," said Mahaado.

"Send your friend. The Celt."

"What? But he's not very good at fighting…"

"I don't want any more people to get hurt than necessary, and I know your friend doesn't either. A perfect fit."

"Right," said Mahaado. "If all succeeds you will find Katsuya waiting for you in the palace when you get back."

"Goodbye," said Atemu, walking to the door. "Good luck."

"You too," said Mahaado, but Atemu was already gone.

* * *

_You come seeking my advice, Yuugiou?_

I do. This war is destroying my kingdom. I must know what I can do to end it.

_I foresee that the end is near. Within thirty days, the final battle will be fought, and your side will emerge victorious. However, your win will not come without a price, for in these last days, a rival claimant for the throne, of and after your own blood, will come to power among your opposition. Although he will lose the final battle, he will win as well; when the tally of the dead is taken, the pharaoh of Egypt will be found among them, the rival's dagger in his back, the crown fallen from his head forever. Hear these things and weep, pharaoh, for I have foreseen the end, and it is near. Do you understand?_

How can you—?

_Do you understand?_

I do. Thank you, Isis.

_In thirty days or less, then, my pharaoh._


	2. Day 16

**Day 16** (at most 14 days remaining)

"Okay Shizuka, what've we got?"

"A lot of dust," said Shizuka, squinting doubtfully through the doorway. "How long has it been?"

"Since what?" said Katsuya, easing the door open until it caught on something unseen. He scowled at it and tried pushing harder. "Since we've been here it's been five or six years, I think. Since our parents lived here, it's only been a month or so."

"I meant us." With increasing levels of alarm, she watched her brother struggle with the door. "I guess I forgot that even after we left, there were still people living here. You know what I mean? Like, after we left, life in this house should just have stopped."

"Yeah, I know," said Katsuya, giving the door another push. Something crackled ominously.

"Maybe you should stop pushing at it," suggested Shizuka. "There's probably something caught behind it."

"Alright, why don't you go see what it is?"

"Scared?" teased Shizuka gently.

"What? No way! I was just—I thought it would be better for me to stay out here. To push the door, I mean."

"I know," said Shizuka, smiling. "What could possibly scare my big brother?" She slipped through the doorway, and the shadowsof the house draped over her like a pall.

"Shizuka, be careful!" called Katsuya, rushing forward.

"Don't worry!" Shizuka waved reassuringly. "I'm fine! Let's see here…"

"I meant to watch out for falling projectiles, that kind of thing," said Katsuya hastily. "That's all, really…"

"Mm-hmm," said Shizuka. "Well, it looks like there's a box behind the door and that's why it won't open all the way. Want to help me pull it out?"

Together they managed to drag the box from its spot, into the faint rectangle of early morning light afforded by the doorway.

"Why's this thing so heavy?" demanded Katsuya, inspecting it with a scowl. It was, to all appearances, just a simple wooden box. His fingers searched for some way to open it, but the crack was too thin to wedge his fingers into, and the surface, though rather rough, afforded no purchase.

"Think people would buy it as is?" said Katsuya after a while.

"It's just a box," said Shizuka uncertainly.

"Yeah, but… it's got mystery! That's the thing. You never know what you're gonna get."

"But we don't even know what's in it. What if it was something important to our parents?"

"They're dead," said Katsuya bluntly. "Besides, even if it was important we'd probably wind up having to sell it anyway. That was a really good funeral we had for our parents, but it was _really expensive_. If we can't pay Howard back we'll be in really big trouble."

"It's not like our parents were poor," said Shizuka. "There's bound to be plenty of jewelry lying around."

"I just don't know if it'll be enough. But okay. Let's see what else we can find first."

They crept through the rooms for the better part of the day, feeling like intruders in what, not so long ago, used to be their house. Windows were discovered, various trinkets were uncovered, old memories were recovered… One by one, all manner of precious metals, stones, and cloths were exhumed and dumped unceremoniously into a pile by the box— gold, brass, electrum; turquoise, carnelian, lapis lazuli; fine silks, rare spices with exotic names, even a carefully if inexpertly painted stone that Katsuya recognized as being a 5-year-old Shizuka's handiwork but Shizuka didn't (or wouldn't) remember.

Even so…

"You know, Shizuka," said Katsuya uneasily, taking a seat on the box and scrutinizing the pile. "There doesn't seem to be as much stuff as I thought there would be. I mean… our parents could afford to live such a big house and still send us money while we were at our aunt's, but this is all we've found and…"

"You don't think it's enough?" said Shizuka worriedly. "Maybe we missed something?"

"I don't know," said Katsuya. "Howard's going to be asking a lot. I'm not sure how much, but it was something like 100 gold bracelets."

"What? Why so much?"

"We needed two tombs on short notice," said Katsuya, "and mummification can't be cheap. _I _wouldn't touch a dead body unless you paid me a fortune."

"Well," said Shizuka, "you want to see how much this will sell for?"

"Hey! I just remembered!" said Katsuya, jumping to his feet. "I just remembered what this box is for! It used to belong to a, a cousin or an uncle or something. We could never get it open so we just left it here in case he ever came back for it."

"Is it okay to sell it then?" said Shizuka.

"Why not? If he wanted it he should've come back and gotten it." Katsuya grinned widely, pushing money worries aside because Shizuka was starting to look worried and that was something he didn't want. "Let's bring this stuff down to the marketplace. Someone's got to buy it sooner or later."

"I think sooner." It was a few moments before it registered that the voice belonged to neither himself nor Shizuka.

"What? Who are you?" Katsuya spun around and found himself facing either the most highly amused person he'd ever seen, or just the most insane.

"Name's Bakura," said the man, bowing. He was very thin, Katsuya thought absently. "And that, there, is my box."

* * *

"That's fine," said Atemu. "I didn't really want to have to deal with another one today anyway." 

"I'm very sorry," insisted Mahaado. "Katsuya was, until recently, living with his aunt and cousins, but his parents died suddenly. Only yesterday, he moved back to his parents' house. We only just missed him."

"That's fine," repeated Atemu. "I don't mind at all. You know where he is now?"

"Yes, we do," said Mahaado. "I know I said this yesterday, but he should be here tomorrow."

"I cannot contain my excitement," said Atemu.

* * *

"What do you mean, your box?" said Katsuya. The sun had apparently decided to set without giving notice, and the sliver of light gleaming on the horizon stabbed past Bakura's back and into Katsuya's eyes. All Katsuya could make out was white hair, on the long side, glowing lavendar in the backlight from the purple sunset. 

"What, don't tell me your parents never told you about me? I'm deeply hurt…"

"You know my parents?" said Katsuya. Shizuka was getting restless and had moved to the doorway. Katsuya attempted to shield her with his body.

"Knew, Katsuya, _knew_," said Bakura. "Ah, and this is Shizuka, is it not? The last time I saw her she was still in my sister's womb. You have very lovely hair, Shizuka. You take after your grandmother."

"Your _sister_?" said Katsuya. "What, does that make you my uncle?"

"Yes, I do think so," said Bakura. "But I'd rather you thought of me as a cousin. Or, better yet, a brother. I'm not _that_ old, you know."

"I think our aunt would've said something about having a brother!"

"She did have a brother, Katsuya. That would be your father. She's not related to me at all, except as an in-law."

"Our parents, then. _They_ would've said something."

"I could understand why they might not have mentioned anything. Every family has their skeletons in the closet, so to speak. In this family, that would be me." He peered down at his hand, a show of concern playing across his countenance. With his head tipped just so, Katsuya could see a series of three scars, pale against Bakura's tanned cheek. "Although I am slightly lacking in the visible bones department. Anyway, I want my box back"

"This is your box?"

"I think I said that already, but yes, this is my box. Your parents were just holding it for me, and now I'm back for it."

"Look, we can't just give you the box. We don't even know you."

"Fine, fine, I'll buy it. But I haven't got much by way of currency."

"Then how are you supposed to b—?"

"Calm down, calm down. How about this? I'll take care of your debt to Howard. Okay?"

"But you just said you haven't got any money…"

"No," said Bakura. "I've got something better."

* * *

"Hey, wait," hissed Katsuya. "How did you know we owed him money?" 

"Shush," snapped Bakura. "And give me a hand pushing this stone, would you?"

* * *

"How. Did you. Do that?" panted Katsuya, as he sank down into his seat. 

"Do what?" asked Bakura innocently, taking a drink of his barley beer.

"You know what I mean!" Katsuya downed his cup in one swallow, wiped his mouth, and then continued glaring at Bakura. "You made Howard think that huge rock was made of solid gold!"

"It was, Katsuya," said Bakura solemnly.

"No it wasn't! You could see the wet spots where there'd been lichen growing on it! It was just a big gray rock!"

"Appearances can be _so_ deceiving, Katsuya," said Bakura, shaking his head. He had taken out a small but very well polished dagger and was playing with it. Katsuya watched the blade jump from hand to calloused hand, saw his reflection fill its surface and then, impossibly, get sliced in half by itself.

"Come on," said Katsuya, although his voice lacked conviction as he stared at the knife. "Tell me what you did."

"Call it a Gift," said Bakura, grinning. "Now, I really must be on my way. If I could have that box…"

"No," said Katsuya.

"_No?_" said Bakura. Katsuya noticed that the dagger had stopped spinning, and that Bakura's hand had tightened around it.

"No. You didn't pay Howard what we owed him. You just tricked him into believing it."

"What difference does it make?" said Bakura. He didn't seem so amused now. "Either way, your debts are paid."

"No they're not! We owe Howard money, we didn't pay him money. Sooner or later it's going to catch up with us… probably in the afterlife."

"Look," said Bakura. Stab, went the knife, and it plowed through a loaf of bread. "Keith Howard was not a nice man. Do you want to know all the things he's done to you and your family? Let's see…" He extended his index finger. "First, he terrorized your parents for money, saying they owed him when they obviously didn't. Why do you think they sent you away? They didn't want you to be there to see the men in dark cloaks coming over and threatening them for everything they'd got. Next," Bakura raised another finger, "when your parents finally decided they were done with him, he sent people to kill them. While they were at it, they looted the house, though they left a bit because they couldn't _carry_ it all."

"He killed—" sputtered Katsuya.

"Shush. _Listen_." Another finger. "Then he decided to befriend the offspring of these people he'd tricked for so long. And you know what? It runs in the family. You fell right for his trap. Oh, boo-hoo, I knew your parents, I want to help you. Here, let me pay for your parents' burial? Katsuya, people are _not kind_. You can't believe them. And then he turns right around and says, By the way, you owe me an impossible amount of gold, which could have afforded a funeral about 10 times more lavish. Maybe 15 if you're good at bartering. Sure, you're young and look pretty guileless. The embalmers would probably have charged you extra, because they'd have known they'd be able to get away with it, but not _this_ much. And you know what?" Bakura had run out of fingers. He fisted his hands and put them back down. "Even if you _had_ paid him what he'd asked for, he would've said, 'Oops, no, didn't you hear me? I asked for _two_ hundred bracelets.' Or 'Oh, but since you've taken so long, I've decided to charge interest.' And you would _never_ have been able to pay off your 'debt.' And then when Howard got impatient, he would've sold the two of you to the slave traders, taken the money he got from that, and moved on to another unsuspecting victim. He got what he deserved. A big rock. It was a bit misplaced, though; I would've preferred it on his _head_."

"How do you know all this?" said Katsuya, after a pause.

"I like to keep up with my family, see what they're up to." Bakura smirked at Katsuya's blank look. "Or, in simpler terms, I've been spying. Anyway, _now_ can I have the box?"

"Sure, take it," said Katsuya. "I don't know how it'll help you, though. You can't open it."

"_You_ can't, maybe," said Bakura. "But it's my box. It'll open for me."

"Really?" said Katsuya. "Open it then."

"Here? I don't think so." Bakura stood.

"Oh come on! Now I really want to know what's in it."

"Too bad," said Bakura.

"I thought you said we were family!"

Bakura rolled his eyes, sat back down. "Fine," he said. "I'll _tell _you, but there's no way I'm showing you. Remember what I said about skeletons in the closet? That wasn't all figurative. I used to rob pyramids for a living."

"_What?_"

"Yes, bring all the royal officials down on us, why don't you," said Bakura sarcastically, shooting wary looks over his shoulders. "I was really good. Touzoku Ou, they called me. Thief King. Has a certain ring, doesn't it? But then I quit, and I gave my gear to your mother for safekeeping."

"Why?"

"Why'd I quit? Or why'd I give it to her?"

"Both!"

Sigh. "Nosy, aren't you. Well, I promised my brother (he was 8 at them time, and I was 15) that I would stop, and I knew if I had my stuff I would always be tempted. Your mother though, she was a saint. Who better to hold onto a bunch of highly illegal equipment?"

"But you could have gotten her in trouble!"

"You saw how hard the box was to open. Anyway, she was in enough trouble of her own."

"That's true…" said Katsuya, trailing off, a sure sign that he was thinking hard. "Wait! Why do you want it back now? You're not going _back_ into…"

"Pyramid-robbing? Tomb-raiding? Why yes I am."

"But you quit! You promised your brother…"

"Yes, I did. And until about four, five days ago, I lived with him and my mother, happily ever after. And then I went out to trade for some, I don't know, I think it was cloth my mother wanted. When I came back—" Bakura bit out a harsh chuckle. "They'd taken him away."

"Taken _who_ away?"

"My _brother_, idiot. The pharaoh was going to kill him for being, being _family_. After that I really had no reason to stick around. I figure I'll open up some more pyramids, make trouble for the pharaoh. If I steal enough treasure I can bribe support off of the nomads who're at war with us and _then_ won't our pharaoh be in trouble."

Katsuya gaped.

"Well, enough chatting for the day. Lots of work to do, those tombs won't rob themselves. Oh yes… You don't remember anything we've talked about today, am I right?"

"Ah…"

"Woosh," said Bakura softly, "woosh…"

"What?"

"Oh, just an allusion I thought up. Your memory is like sand dunes, Katsuya. Very impressionable. Sometimes a camel might walk across them, leave footprints, but you might think it was, say, a human, because the prints look similar in the sand. You don't want to give people mistaken information, now do you? Best to let the wind blow the prints away, don't you think?"

"That has got to be the lamest thing I've ever…"

"Woosh," said Bakura. "Just keep that in mind. Bye then." He waved, and the fingers of his hand put Katsuya in mind of sand rippling in the wind. Katsuya could practically taste the sand in his mouth, feel the sting on his face, and then Bakura was gone.

"What a weird guy," said Katsuya, shaking his head as if to clear the vision.

"Didn't he say that…" said Shizuka.

"Hm?"

"I mean, the pharaoh killed his brother, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Because his brother was related to the pharaoh?"

"Uh huh."

"And Bakura's our uncle?"

"That's what he said," said Katsuya slowly.

"So wouldn't that make _us_ also related to the pharaoh…?"

"Um…"

"Excuse me," came an unfamiliar voice from somewhere behind them, along with the metallic sound of a sword being taken out of its sheath.

* * *

"Have you completed the Items?" There was a hint of tenseness usually not present in the pharaoh's voice, as he carefully capitalized the "I" in "Items". 

"No, Yuugiou, I have not. All the physical forms are molded, but the proper incantations have yet to be set upon them."

"How much longer?"

"Would you like to see your Item, the Puzzle?"

The best way to deal with this blatant refusal to answer his question was to press on as well as he could. "Let's see it then."

The cowled head nodded. From the depths of the robe was procured an exquisite golden pyramid.

"Are you holding it upside down?" suggested the pharaoh.

"No, Yuugiou, I am not. This is how it is worn."

"_Worn_? Like a necklace?"

"More like a pendant."

"I see."

"I hope it pleases you, Yuugiou. It shall be, if the ritual is successful, the carrier of your ba for the next few thousand years."

"Really," said the pharaoh. "I hope you've put in plenty of food."

"My pharaoh is pleased to joke," said the hooded figure, which was the polite way of saying, 'You've got to be kidding me,' to someone who could, with a word, have you taken away for a quick date with the executioner, and then refitted for a set of new, hoodless robes. "Your ba does not need physical nourishment. Even if it did, within a few years of being locked in darkness, the pieces of your ba broken and scattered, you would cease being sane enough to care."

"Oh. Well. Now I know what kind of nightmares _I_'m going to be having for the next few months. In any case, I must be going back to the palace now. Carry on, then," the pharaoh said, and added under his breath, "but not too quickly, please…"


	3. Day 17

**Day 17** (at most 13 days remaining)

It was barely an hour into the new day and a long way to go until morning when Atemu finally made it back to the palace.

He had company.

This wasn't readily apparent, as when Atemu first walked in, the halls were entombed in silence and shadows. Earlier in the evening, he had, with some difficulty and a glare that could've frozen a volcano, managed to convince his guards to return to the palace early while he continued on to visit the Item-Maker alone. (The secrecy in which he shrouded these visits was so difficult to achieve that he had even given up trying to attain it in his meetings with Mahaado.) For a few moments, Atemu just stood there, surrounded by darkness and cold marble, reveling in the cool, pristine night, in the feeling of being—dared he say it?—alone.

Something shattered on the wall behind him, inches from his head. The pieces ricocheted; Atemu knew this because of the sound, and because a piece had struck his shoulder. Clasping his hand over the stinging wound and frowning when he felt blood, it suddenly occurred to him to duck, a motion that possibly saved his life. The next projectile came so close he could hear it zip by his ear. Even after it had crashed into the wall like its precedent, the echoes continued to reverberate in Atemu's ear, but he was damned if he was going to show any sign of being shaken up.

"Missed," said Atemu smugly, straightening up. This wasn't true; his ear was bleeding quite profusely, but he didn't notice the pain through the adrenaline.

To the sound of his guards shouting and running around in a general panic, Atemu ducked again, and just in time. Another something struck the wall above his head. This time Atemu managed to catch a piece in his hand as the rest of them rained around his shoulders. It was cold and sharp and melted away in his hand—ice.

"Seto—" Atemu began, but was interrupted by more flying ice.

"Shut up!" screamed Seto. Atemu had never heard Seto scream before, not even the first time Seto had tried to seal a Shadow Monster within a tablet. It had been an angry white wolf, and not a particularly good choice for a beginner. Although it was clear from the beginning that the wolf had had no intention of being sealed, by the time anyone had thought to stop Seto, it had been too late; the wolf had already sunk vicious teeth into Seto's arm and had nearly succeeded in tearing it off. Seto, however, had remained incredibly calm. With amazing presence of mind he had pried the jaws open long enough to free his arm and then back away while Atemu ran forward to restrain the wolf and his guards to restrain their pharaoh. All that time Seto hadn't so much as shouted, and now he was _screaming._

Atemu ducked as well as he could, moving surprisingly quickly for someone who'd been on a horse all day and had the stiff muscles to show for it. He accidentally bumped into a bracket on the wall, which was holding an unlit torch. At the sound, the ice followed him, although fortunately it was aimed a bit too high this time. Absently, Atemu snatched the torch out of its holder, brandishing it as if it could illuminate the room even unlit, ducked, and then scampered back the way he'd come with the vague idea of getting outside, where there were more places to hide than in this open hall. It occurred to him that going the opposite way might also have been beneficial, because he could possibly have run into his guards, who otherwise would probably never find him. However, Seto was flinging more ice, and Atemu decided that thinking was not in order if he wanted to have a head to continue thinking _with_ much longer.

"Seto," Atemu tried again, and was rewarded with a rough scrape on his cheek as an icicle screamed its way by. Morbid curiosity possessed his hands, made him grope behind him. He found the icicle with little difficulty. It was embedded deeply into the wall, quivering, and about four feet long.

"Seto, please, stop…"

More ice. "You killed him! Killed! He's dead!"

"No, listen, Seto—"

"Don't speak to me! You don't have the right to speak to me after what you did! Shut up! Shut up!!"

Atemu was going about this all wrong, he reflected, although if there existed a worse time for quiet reflection he hadn't yet found it. By this point he couldn't tell where Seto was aiming anymore, because ricocheting ice shards were coming at him from all directions. Ice was exploding on the walls all around him, he knew he was cut up all over except maybe where jewelry offered thin bands of protection, he was sure he had ice melting in his hair, and he had gotten some down the back of his shirt, a very unpleasant feeling. But the rebounding ice wasn't the worst of it; it was the ice that went directly into Atemu that was the most unpleasant. And at this rate, there would be much more unpleasantness following if Atemu didn't do something, now.

And do something he would. He was pharaoh of Egypt, after all, not some scared little boy, cowering from his own high priest.

"Seto!" Atemu declared in his most commanding voice. There was a brief hesitation. Then:

"And don't you dare use your pharaoh voice on me, bastard!" said Seto. More ice came, but this time Atemu was ready for it. Instead of ducking, he swatted the ice out of the air with a hand, keeping an eye on the source. Now his hand was going numb, but at least it made him feel more in control, more confident. He advanced. More ice came, but, keeping his hand ready, he found he could hear it coming in time to hit it out of his way, and using this strategy, he managed to make it across the hall without getting his chest punctured.

The air got steadily more frigid as he continued. He imagined he could feel a cold mist playing about his feet. Then, without warning, he walked into something warm.

Biting down panic, Atemu managed to collect himself before Seto could, and flung himself at the taller man. There was the sound of a clay jug shattering as they both tumbled to the floor. Water pooled around their prone forms, and Atemu recoiled from it as if burned. Hastily, he leapt up and began dragging Seto away from the water, feeling it solidify under his feet as he did so.

"Let go of me!" Seto said.

The walls lit up with the reflective glow of flickering torches. Apparently Atemu's guards had finally found them. Moments later, it was all over, Seto snarling but restrained, Atemu hastily trying to arrange himself into a semblance of presentable. He was bleeding everywhere, especially the soles of his bare feet (his sandals had inexplicably disappeared), and his hair and clothing were soaked. He brushed a few chips of ice out of his hair, but there wasn't much else he could do to salvage his appearance.

"What should we do with him?" asked a guard, while his partner was busy being pulverized with the splashes of water Seto was kicking up and turning to ice mid-flight.

"Get him away from the puddle of water, for one," said Atemu. He suddenly realized that he was still clutching the unlit torch in one hand. He painfully forced his grip to relax. Gathering as much dignity as he could with his hair drooping to one side, Atemu approached the guards and lit his torch in one of theirs. Next he turned to Seto, bringing the flame closer so he could scrutinize Seto's face with care. "And also… bring me a dagger, would you?" His close proximity allowed him to watch the color flee from Seto's face even as Seto shrank away from the flame.

The requested weapon was quickly provided. It was rather big and unwieldy, more suited for his guards than for Atemu's small stature. Atemu put his torch in a nearby bracket and took the knife, cradling it in both hands but holding it away from his body as if it were a screaming, fussing baby that had been thrust upon him.

"Seto," said Atemu. "I've been wanting to speak with you. Your brother—"

"Don't talk to me about my brother!"

One of the more enthusiastic of the guards slapped Seto in the face.

"Pandora!" said Atemu sharply. Pandora looked ashamed.

"Your brother wanted me to deliver a message," continued Atemu calmly, "Do you want to hear it?"

"Like I'd believe anything you said," said Seto. Atemu shot another warning glance at Pandora, whose hand froze midair.

"Would you like to hear it all the same?" said Atemu.

"Fine. Give me more of your lies," Seto spat.

"Mokuba wanted to say that he loved you, that he was sorry, that he would miss you, and that he wanted to thank you for everything you've done for him," said Atemu, still in that same impassive tone of voice. He watched for a reaction.

"Did he." said Seto flatly. He seemed to be choking on his own voice.

"Yes," said Atemu, "he did."

"How did you… how did you ki…" Seto trailed off.

"I used a knife," said Atemu, as gently as he could. He had known this was coming and had been preparing for it. It was a lot easier to say than he'd expected, perhaps because with Seto so upset, it seemed up to him to remain calm. "I cut his throat. I can promise you that he felt no pain."

"How would you know?" said Seto, but his voice lacked bite. "Could you feel what he was feeling?"

"Yes, in fact," said Atemu. "I could. And…" he swallowed. "I hate to say this, but I will show you. Right now."

To Atemu's surprise, Seto tilted his head back, baring pale throat. "Fine," he said. "I'm ready."

"No, you can't do that," said Atemu. "I need you to look at me."

"Why?" said Seto. "Why should I do that?"

"Please, Seto," said Atemu. "Thank you, Seto," said Atemu. "And… goodbye."

* * *

"Aw, come on, can't we take a break?" said Katsuya. "Some people like to actually sleep at night."

Their mysterious captor turned around to look at Katsuya through the quickly settling darkness. He was wearing some sort of green armor, and it creaked with the movement. Then he shook his head. "At least I'm not making you walk," he said.

"Yeah, but whoever heard of riding on a horse? Couldn't have gotten us a war chariot or something, could you?"

"No, I couldn't. I'm afraid it was all a bit short notice."

"Where are you bringing us, anyway?"

"Surely you've guessed? You noticed we were riding on horses… Don't you know who came up with that idea?"

"Huh?"

"The pharaoh," said the man. "The pharaoh came up with the idea of riding on horses, instead of making them drag chariots. He's a very innovative man, you know."

"Um… so?"

"We're going to the palace, to see the pharaoh," said the man in green armor. He smiled slightly at Katsuya's reaction. "Please don't try to run away. I'm sure you've noticed the guards who are riding with us."

"What? Where?" said Katsuya, who had, in fact, been about to wheel his horse around and flee.

"There." He pointed. "And there. And there. You get the idea."

"We're never going to escape, are we," said Katsuya glumly.

"No, you're not," said the man in green armor.

"We're going to die, aren't we," said Katsuya.

"Only you are, Katsuya. Your sister needn't have come at all, only she was… quite persistent."

Katsuya glanced over at Shizuka. She had fallen asleep, and was slumped over her horse's head. Needless to say, the horse wasn't pleased.

"Can't we drop her off somewhere? I don't want her to get hurt."

"I think she would be safer coming with us than she would be by herself."

"What, coming with us to meet the psychotic pharaoh who kills all his relatives?"

"He hasn't killed any female relatives, Katsuya. Females can't inherit the throne, after all."

"You mean he's killing all of us just to make sure we don't take his power? Hey, I can already tell him I'm not interested!"

"He can't take that chance. Please don't question it any longer."

Katsuya growled, but decided to let it go. He wouldn't stand much of a chance arguing his point with that big sword pressed against his throat, anyway. "So why can't we stop again? Actually get some sleep in the middle of the night? Seeing how you have all these guards, we wouldn't be able to escape anyway, right?"

"The sooner we get there, the less chance I have of messing this up," said their captor with a self-deprecating smile. "Besides, I don't think you would want to ride through the city during the day. People stare."

"Hey, how bad can it be? As long as I'm not falling over from exhaustion…"

"You can sleep when we're there."

"But I don't want to sleep when we're there! I want to sleep now!"

"Fine. If you want to sleep now, you can sleep now. Go ahead." The man gently guided his horse around in a half-circle until he was facing Katsuya.

Shizuka's horse, oblivious, continued on, until the man in green armor reached over and caught its reigns.

Katsuya stared.

"Well? I thought you wanted to sleep?"

"What, here?" said Katsuya.

"Do you have a better alternative?"

"I just thought you'd be able to come up with something better than in the middle of the desert!"

Their captor shrugged in a clatter of armor. "I wasn't actually planning to have to accommodate your desperate need for sleep. Take it or leave it."

Katsuya fumed, but jumped off the horse. He'd show the stupid green armor guy. With an exaggerated show of nonchalance, Katsuya laid himself out in the sand. The grit that soon attached itself to his face and hair was all worth it for the sound their captor made, one of surprise and some confusion.

"You're serious?"

"Yep!" said Katsuya happily, trying not to spit reflexively as some sand made its way into his mouth. "Need my sleep, me."

A pile of fabric landed on his face. "At least sleep on top of that," said the man in green armor. "That way you won't get sand all over you. That is, _more_ sand."

Katsuya sat up to inspect the fabric. It was blue. "Thanks," Katsuya said, looking up.

"Don't mention it," said the man in green armor, now minus one cape.

* * *

Atemu's veins were filling with fire. He forced his hands to move, to grasp Seto's shoulders so they wouldn't lose eye contact. He missed first try, somehow managing to cover his fingers with the blood that was flowing from Seto's neck.

Gods, though, it hurt,it hurt, it hurt. Dying was painful, but at least when it was you dying, after a while you stopped feeling it.

"Pharaoh—" said someone nearby.

"Is he dead?" Atemu said, voice even quieter than usual, because he knew that if he spoke any more loudly they'd hear his voice cracking.

"He's dead."

"Are you sure?" said Atemu. "Would you be willing to bet your life on it?"

"Ah…"

But it was true. Seto was dead. There was no more pain in Seto's eyes, only a blissful blankness, and that was how Atemu knew he was done. "Someone take his body," he said, backing away, trying not to breathe heavily. The guards all rushed to catch Seto before he fell. "And this knife, too," added Atemu. "What's happened to Mokuba? Does he have a tomb?"

"He has a tomb, pharaoh. He hasn't been put in it yet…"

"Good," said the pharaoh indistinctly. It was all he could do not to collapse onto the ground there and then, screaming in pain. He forced himself to focus. "Have another one constructed," he said. "A bigger one. I want him and his brother buried together. I'm going out again."

Unsurprisingly, his guards followed him, like a shadow, as he walked out into his city.

* * *

"Aren't you going to sleep too?" said Katsuya. He was lying with his back to the man in green armor. He had spread the cape over the sand and was now picking absently at one fraying edge.

"No."

"You have to sleep some time."

"Not until my job is done."

"Look, I'm not saying this because I'm plotting to run away, all right? You've got all these guards to make sure I can't. I just think you should get some sleep. You've got to be tired."

"I've only been chasing you around for two days. It could be worse. I could lose you now and then spend weeks scouring the desert sands."

"Aw, suit yourself," said Katsuya. "It's not like I care. Only I can't sleep with you watching me. It's creepy!"

"There's nothing I can do about it."

"You could look away!"

"I am looking away."

Katsuya glanced up suspiciously. True to his word, the man was busying himself with cleaning rust off of his green armor.

Katsuya lay back down.

He looked up again. The man was still polishing away.

Katsuyafocused his gaze back on the edge of the cape. Without warning, he suddenly leapt up, pointing a finger at the man, shouting triumphantly, "Ha!"

The man stopped polishing his armor. "What?" he said. "Are you okay?"

"I know you were watching me! I could feel it!"

"You're crazy," the man said. "And you're wasting your sleep time."

Muttering to himself, Katsuya settled himself back on the cape. "I _know_ you're watching," he muttered.

"Believe what you like," said his captor.

* * *

"My pharaoh," said Mahaado.

"Not this again," said Atemu. "Look, this is not the time." He leaned back against the closed door. "Do you think you could stop paying attention to me for a moment?"

"My pharaoh?" said Mahaado.

"Just, you know, read that book on your desk or something."

Bewildered, Mahaado sat at his desk, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and tried to focus on the text. For good measure he turned his chair around so he was facing the wall and away from his pharaoh. Let's see… _On the seventeenth day of that glorious month she bore me a son. At the moment of his birth a streak of lightning flashed through clear sky, and I knew instantly that he was to be truly unique, even for a pharaoh…_

A thud interrupted Mahaado from what was possibly the most grandiloquent and pompous journal ever to be kept by man (though of course, pharaohs were gods, not men, and Atemu's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great uncle, even if he was never pharaoh, seemed to have taken this to heart).

"Atemu?" he asked, jumping up.

"You're not looking at me, are you, Mahaado?" said Atemu, in a low voice that was more like a groan than anything else.

Hastily, Mahaado looked away. "I just wanted to make sure you were unhurt," said Mahaado. He had seen, though. He had seen Atemu slumped against the door, digging fingernails into his face, dried blood and a hint of wetness on his cheeks.

A forced chuckle met his ears. "Of course not. What could ever hurt me? I'm pharaoh. …Yes, pharaoh, as you generally call me."

Still shocked at the pharaoh's state, it took Mahaado a while to understand. "My pharaoh, I'm sorry, I forgot…"

"It's all right, Mahaado," said the pharaoh. "You can look now."

Mahaado did. Atemu was collected once more, standing straight, looking regal as always, if a bit worse for wear. There was still a streak of blood on his face. Mahaado knew he shouldn't have been surprised at the rapid transformation back to pharaoh mode, but he was. Blood, bruises, and grime aside, Atemu looked entirely composed, as if he hadn't just been curled into a semi-fetal position, shaking, less than a minute earlier.

"There's a washbasin in the corner if you want to wash your face," said Mahaado carefully.

"Thank you," said Atemu.

Mahaado brought him linens to dry his face, a change of clothes, a jar of kohl. "Would you like something for the… cuts?" said Mahaado, even more carefully now.

The pharaoh's suddenly blank expression told him he had gone too far. "What cuts?" the pharaoh said. His voice was like ice.

"Yes, my pharaoh," said Mahaado, sitting back down. How often Mahaado addressed the pharaoh by title reflected how nervous he was feeling—and right now he was feeling quite nervous indeed.

Atemu joined him moments later. He looked clean and unscathed, face flawless besides his right earlobe, which he was just casually pinching as if because he wanted to, and not because otherwise it would've continued to bleed all over his fresh robes. He had even managed to cover the other cuts and bruises with a mixture of kohl, red ochre, and sycamore juice, which Mahaado imagined stung quite a lot on the open wounds. If it did, though, Atemu hid it very well.

"My pharaoh? May I ask what happened earlier?" said Mahaado.

"Nothing happened earlier," said Atemu. "However…"

Mahaado leaned in closer.

"However, I have just killed Seto Kaiba."

Mahaado did not say "_oh_" in a manner that suggested that everything was suddenly clear, although he was thinking it. He waited for Atemu to continue.

"You're wondering why that matters so much," said Atemu. It wasn't a question. "Sure, I killed someone, but that isn't reason enough to wake you up in the middle of the night or, heavens forbid, lose composure. Am I right?"

"You're always so composed, so it was a shock to see you— to imagine what could've caused you such distress." said Mahaado, trying to find his way through the right phrasing like a man picking his way through a nest of crocodiles. "I didn't mean to suggest it was no big deal—"

Atemu raised a hand to cut him off. "I understand. But the reason is, Mahaado, that I have a… Gift. Don't flinch like that, I won't subject your ears to such an offensive word again. I just want to explain this to you. I can… I have some control over pain. Most relevantly to the topic at hand, I can take other people's pain for my own. This is why I insisted on killing so many people myself; I did not want them to hurt while they were dying."

"Meaning that you can somehow… take away pain?" said Mahaado.

"Yes."

"But it can't just disappear…"

"No, it cannot."

"So what happens to it?"

Silence.

Mahaado hissed. "_You_ get it?"

"I'm sorry?" said Atemu. Mahaado, although usually very in tune with the subtle nuances of his pharaoh's speech, was not only half asleep, but also astonished out of his mind at seeing Atemu like that, and then finding out why. For the first time in years, he missed the sign Atemu was giving him, that they were done with the topic, that he was already saying too much.

"So the pain goes to you?" continued Mahaado. "You feel the pain that you're taking away? So all this time, when you were killing these people, you made sure they didn't feel any pain, at the cost of hurting yoursel—"

"_Mahaado_," said Atemu.

"I-I'm sorry, my pharaoh," said Mahaado, suddenly realizing that he had again gone too far. He tried to shift the topic, slightly. "So… you killed Seto, but you took away his pain. And that was why you were…?"

"I was what?" said Atemu severely.

"Nothing, my pharaoh," said Mahaado quickly. Another blunder. Conversing with the pharaoh was something to approach with care and delicacy. But all of a sudden, Mahaado had another question he was dying to ask, and it was painfully blunt. Mahaado took a deep breath, like a diver preparing for the plunge. Perhaps Atemu would go easy on him. "Is it… Is the pain of dying… very bad?"

Silence. Then: "Yes."

"Why do you do it then? You don't owe them anything."

"I owe them everything. I owe them their lives."

Silence.

"It's very admirable of you, my pharaoh."

Silence.

"Or perhaps I just don't want to feel guilty anymore."

"Atemu…"

Atemu did not correct Mahaado. Instead, he straightened suddenly, flicked back his bangs, cleared his throat. It was the sign that their previous conversation was over, and Mahaado did not miss it this time. He cast about for something else to say, while part of him marveled at getting away with calling the pharaoh by name.

"Would you like to hear the latest news in the lineages?"

"Of course."

"Remember I told you we thought we'd found the home of Ryou's brother? It turns out he doesn't live there any longer. In fact, he's been living the past eight years with Ryou."

"But Ryou's mother said she and Ryou lived alone."

"Most likely she didn't want us to find out about the brother and take him as well."

"That would make sense," said Atemu.

"Should we fetch him?" said Mahaado, anxiously watching Atemu's expression. It didn't change in the slightest.

"Of course. In fact, I think I could spare some of my personal guard."

"Don't you need them?"

"They proved rather incompetent tonight." Atemu strode to the door, and opened it to reveal his guards, fighting a losing battle against sleep. Then again, it took a brave man to remain somnolent in the slightest while in the presence of the pharaoh. They snapped to attention.

"I have an errand for one of you to run," said Atemu. "You may bring backup."

"I'll do it," said Pandora instantly. It was painfully obvious he wanted to make up some ground for earlier, and although Atemu was hesitant about sending him, he was exhausted in every sense of the word and didn't feel up to a tactful dissuasion.

"Fine," said Atemu. "Mahaado will have details for you after the rest of us leave." Then he closed the door.

"Also," said Mahaado, once the pharaoh had returned to his seat. "I have found another one." He waited for ire, for despair, for a reaction. All he got was a slight nod, a motion that said, 'Do continue, would you?' "By all accounts he looks a lot like you. My pharaoh. His name is Yuugi Motou. He lives nearby, but the terrain is difficult to traverse, and it's a journey that generally takes three, four days."

"He must be the one," said Atemu thoughtfully, or as thoughtfully as he could get going on 24 hours without sleep and aching everywhere. "If he resembles me, the people would be much more willing to accept that he is of the bloodline, and that he is eligible to be pharaoh."

"I've already sent Gaia after him," said Mahaado.

"That's good," said Atemu. "Gaia widely known for his speed."

"Yes, he is," said Mahaado. "And Katsuya should be on his way here as we speak. He may even be here now. It's nearing daybreak."

"Splendid," said Atemu. "Another one for me to kill. Does he have any immediate family?"

"A sister," said Mahaado. "Beyond that, no…"

"I wonder where she will go, then, with her brother gone."

Mahaado checked Atemu's expression again. Still no hint of strain. "Perhaps she will return to her aunt and uncles?" he suggested.

"I am quite tired of this," said Atemu abruptly, although he kept his easy, conversational tone.

"I can see why, my pharaoh."

"I am going to see Isis again," said Atemu. "She says that the only way to stop the Shadow Games was for me to give my life in some elaborate ceremony. But she also says that I am to die on the battlefield, at the hands of a usurper. That would mean that there is no way to stop the Shadow Games, and that's something I'm not willing to believe.

"Perhaps it's not," said Mahaado. "Prophecies can have many levels of meaning."

"Perhaps," said Atemu. He stood. "I will return to the palace to change into more elaborate garments, and then I will go meet with Isis," he announced.

"Good luck, my pharaoh," said Mahaado.

Atemu nodded briefly before heading out with his guard once more, this time into the dawn.

* * *

"Okay, I don't want to say this, but you were right," said Katsuya.

"Hm?"

"I'm really not liking this whole parading-in-front-of-everybody thing…"

From the instant they had passed through the gates of the city, the people had not stopped staring. There was a general flurry of pointing, of sleeve tugging as the procession passed, just to make sure no one could miss them. And there were whispers…

_"They're going to the pharaoh, aren't they, poor lambs…"_

_"I hear the pharaoh's killed another one just yesterday."_

_"I hear the pharaoh can kill you just by _looking_ at you."_

_"I'd certainly die if he looked at me. Have you seen his eyes? Ruthless, absolutely ruthless."_

_"Not a hint of emotion in them."_

_"He'd probably stick a knife in you as soon as look at you. Sooner."_

_"And laugh while he was doing it."_

_"And laugh."_

_"Definitely laugh."_

The man in green armor rode diagonally over until he was right next to Katsuya, so he could nudge both horse and rider on. "Don't listen," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway, we're almost there."

"That's supposed to be comforting?" said Katsuya.

And then, there they were. Someone took their horses, but Katsuya was too dazed to take note of who it was. He grabbed Shizuka's hand and stood close to her as they walked toward the forbidding bulk of the palace.

As they were about to go in the entrance, however, the pharaoh came out.

Katsuya gaped.

The pharaoh was wearing a short tunic and a luxurious blue cape, and the rest of him was covered with gold. Gold bracelets, gold rings, gold collar, gold anklets… He even had one gold earring dangling from his left ear. It looked like someone had tried to pierce his right ear as well but had done a really poor job of it.

"I had an accident this morning," said the pharaoh, as if reading Katsuya's mind. While Katsuya gaped some more, the pharaoh turned to the man in green armor. "Thank you," he said. "These must be Katsuya and Shizuka."

Katsuya nodded, which unfortunately drew the pharaoh's attention back to him.

"Unfortunately," said the pharaoh, "I have business in the city this morning, and this afternoon I ride south, to battle, from which I won't return until tomorrow evening. This means I probably won't be able to fit you into my schedule until the day after tomorrow. I imagine you're terribly disappointed."

"You've got to kill me personally?" said Katsuya bluntly.

"I hope you have no objections," said Atemu.

What could Katsuya say to that?

"Good day then. Please make yourself comfortable." Nodding briefly, the pharaoh walked on, trailed by his guards.

"He didn't seem that scary," said Katsuya, as they went in. "Kind of friendly. Almost seemed like he had a sense of humor."

"Except for the fact that he's going to kill you?" said Shizuka. She sounded scared.

"Yeah, except that." Katsuya gave Shizuka's hand a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry, though. I'll be okay. You just watch."

They walked past some people who were industriously scrubbing the ground and walls, but Katsuya marked them off as inconsequential and paid them no mind.


	4. Day 18

**Day 18** (at most 12 days remaining)

As the great fire of the sun drew near to the earth, a shrill scream pierced the air. Within moments, new tongues of fire were lapping at the ground, spreading voraciously as if to replace the ones that had just disappeared over the horizon.

And, not turning around to watch the flames leap from house to house, the pharaoh's official urged his horse a little faster.

* * *

Nightfall, and they had reached their destination. It was incredible, really, but then again, incredible speed was what Gaia and his horsemen were known for. 

The boy they were looking for shouldn't have been that hard to find, considering his physical description, but it shouldn't have been that easy, either. They had spotted him aimlessly wandering the streets, a blank look in his wide, purple eyes. Although his hair stuck up in all directions and in all manners of shocking colors, nobody seemed to take notice of the boy at all. Busy townspeople bustled back and forth, doing whatever it was that busy townspeople did, perhaps unconsciously making a wide berth around the boy but otherwise completely ignoring him.

When they'd first ridden into town, people had been quite interested in the royal procession, some even approaching to shyly touch the royal banner or pet the royal horses as they went by. But when Gaia stopped in front of the boy, all eyes had suddenly turned away.

"Psst. Hey, you," said Gaia, riding closer.

The boy stopped walking and turned his blank gaze up. And up. It occurred to Gaia how very small the boy was.

"Do you have any family?" said Gaia, hoping there was someone he could notify of the boy's impending departure. They weren't thieves come in the night to steal the poor child away, after all. There would be compensation for his family members, or whatever else they could do to make the loss more bearable.

The boy continued staring up at him for a few seconds more, before he turned his gaze away and resumed walking away at an unhurried pace.

"Boy!" said Gaia sharply. The boy stopped, turned, shot Gaia an injured look. "Didn't you hear me? I asked you if you had any family."

The boy mutely tilted his head to one side.

"Excuse me, sir," said Gaia, stopping a random person walking by. "Do you know who this boy's parents are?"

The man shot Gaia a disapproving look, completely refused to look at the boy in question, and hurried on his way.

Each time Gaia tried, he received similar results. Finally, in desperation, he bodily grabbed the next man to approach, giving him a light shake. "Does anyone talk around here?" Gaia demanded. _"Who are this boy's parents?"_

"Let go of me!" snarled the man, wrenching his sleeve out of Gaia's grasp and fleeing.

Gaia looked after him in shock, as behind him his men shifted uneasily. "What are you laughing at?" he asked the boy, who had started giggling into his small, dirt-covered hands. The boy stopped at once, although his eyes retained a mischievous look, as if he knew a secret that Gaia did not.

"Okay, kid," said Gaia, sighing. "I'm giving you one last chance to tell me where you live, who your family is, anything. If you don't, I'm going to just take you away, and you'll never see any of them again."

He got no reaction, but then again, he didn't expect any.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said. He picked the boy up by his armpits and swung him onto one of the packhorses. The boy didn't seem frightened or surprised at all. He merely looked around with curiosity, as if adjusting to the new viewpoint. A few moments later, the empty look returned to his eyes, and he resumed staring straight ahead of him, as if captivated by the view of empty air.

* * *

"You have a visitor, O pharaoh." 

"Send him in, then," said Atemu, trying to judge whether or not he'd fall over from exhaustion before his visitor made it to the tent.

"_Her_, O pharaoh," said the messenger.

"What was that?" If only he had a chair, Atemu thought…

"Your visitor is female, sir." The messenger looked frightened for his life at having just corrected the _pharaoh_.

"Really," said Atemu. The bed was too low; especially for a pharaoh already lacking in the height department, but his head spun and he was sure fainting in front of a visitor, male or female, wouldn't help his image at all. He tried to think back to the last time he'd slept—not since he woke up three days ago to steel himself for paying a visit to Mokuba Kaiba, he realized. He couldn't even doze in the saddle, because a pharaoh who saw it fit to sleep in public had little chance of ever waking again. It was just as well, he decided; pretty soon he would either be dead or locked into eternal darkness. Sleep suddenly didn't look too appealing.

He realized that the messenger-boy expected something of him. Oh yes. "Please send _her_ in, then."

The messenger fled the tent.

Atemu looked around at his surroundings again. It wasn't like the tent was particularly well furnished. A rather bare and drafty interior was part of the inherent tent-ness. And it wasn't like they could've carted a desk all the way to the battlefield. The horses would've complained. Even so…

When the visitor lifted the tent flap to peer in, the pharaoh was seated, perfectly at ease, on what appeared to be an overturned war chariot. The wheels and yoke sat discarded in one corner. If his back was as straight and his posture as rigid as a sword, then his gaze was as sharp as one, and his eyes as cold as steel.

"Ô phare," said his visitor, bowing deeply until her hair swung wildly across her face.

"Did you mean to say that the other way around, perhaps?" suggested Atemu lightly. He was making the discovery that, after you passed a certain level of exhaustion, you broke through to the other side, where life was nice and full of shiny pink bubbles.

"Non," she said, "I called you 'phare,' which, in my native language, means a beacon, or a luminary, or, in more literal terms, a lighthouse." She spoke slowly, haltingly, with a light accent.

"So you just called me a lighthouse, then?" said the pharaoh, who currently thought the funniest thing was how much his hands hurt from ripping the wheels off of his makeshift throne.

"Yes, phare, for that is what you are." The woman straightened, and Atemu saw that she had a very pretty face. "You are the light in this time of darkness, the only hope we have of freeing our world from the Shadow Games. All of our hope is in you, O lighthouse, and it is to your light that our collective eyes will turn when the deciding day comes."

"No pressure," said Atemu, then focused. "I take it Isis sent you, then?"

"Yes, she did. She wanted to apologize for not being present when you visited last night."

"Thank you," said Atemu. "And your name is…?"

"My name is Anzu," she said, with a peculiar inflection on the name.

"Anzu," repeated the pharaoh. "Well, Anzu, was there anything else…?"

"That is all."

"It seems an awfully long way to come just to deliver an apology," said Atemu.

"I was already here," she said.

"You live here?"

"You misunderstand," she said. Few battle-hardened warriors would've dared to tell the pharaoh that he misunderstood. "Lady Isis sent me with the apology in advance. I have been waiting for you to arrive ever since."

"How long ago did she send you?" said Atemu.

"It has been three days since I departed," said Anzu, apparently unperturbed by the fact that her statement was single-handedly working to defy all laws of nature.

"I see," said Atemu, though he didn't. "I hope you will be able to return home? This area will not be very safe come morning."

"It has been arranged. Although—" Anzu's expression lit up with a smile that could best be described as wicked. "—I would've enjoyed seeing you kick Syrian butt." She cleared her throat. "As your soldiers say."

She bowed, went to the entrance of the tent, lifted the flap, paused. "Goodbye, pharaon," she said, turning around and daringly meeting his eyes with hers. "We eagerly await the day when your light will fill the horizon." As she released the tent flap, she bowed again. The last thing he saw before the flap settled was the hem of her skirt, pure white though it kissed the ground as she walked away.

* * *

"We rest here," said Gaia, in his clear, authoritative voice, as they approached another series of low but rocky hills, which the horses were definitely not looking forward to. He slid off his horse, removed his helmet, and began stroking the matted, sticky fur of his horse's neck, feeling it shake underneath his hands with each panted breath. They had been riding all day, although it had been worth it when they'd made the trip in less than half the expected time. After that, they had left town immediately, in case someone noticed the boy's absence and came after them, but now their horses were variously nearing and passing exhaustion, and Gaia knew they had no choice but to stop. 

The boy they'd captured had not said a word nor made not a sound the entire trip. In fact, he hardly moved, sitting there like a little blank-eyed statue, except once to make a desperate grab for something solid when his horse made a wild jump to clear a few fallen trees. At least it showed that the boy had some desire to stay alive, which Gaia wouldn't have sworn to before the incident.

The clank of weapons jerked Gaia back to attention, and he looked up in time to see a small hand join his on the horse's neck. Their captive had come right up to him, apparently unafraid, and was petting the horse as if he and it were the only two things that existed in the world. Gaia could see his men over the boy's head—big, strong men, looking a bit nervous but quite ready to spear the boy if he made any sudden moves.

Gaia did not know what to do. In other circumstances, he might have forced the boy down, tied his arms together, _something_, because obviously when you kidnapped somebody you had to be careful about letting him get too close to you. But the way the boy had just walked up as if Gaia weren't there, the way he continued to ignore him even now, with several pounds of sharpened metal aimed at his back, severely put Gaia off. Hesitantly, Gaia decided there was no harm in leaving the boy alone, since he had proven docile up to that point. Even when they had been abducting him, all they had to do was pick him up and place him on horseback. He hadn't struggled, hadn't cried out, _nothing_, just looked at them curiously and then turned his blank gaze forward.

Not for the first time, Gaia wondered if the boy was stupid, or mute, or perhaps a bit mentally defective. He didn't even know what the pharaoh wanted the boy for, although after getting a good look at the resemblance, Gaia thought he had an idea. Now he signaled to his men over the boy's head that it was all right, he wasn't in danger. Some of them cautiously lowered their weapons, while the rest stared at him as if he were as crazy as the little boy.

Without warning, said boy threw his arms around the horse's neck. The unexpected movement brought half of his men forward, weapons up once more, but Gaia signaled them to stop—he was curious. For the first time, he heard the boy speak, so quietly that at first Gaia wasn't sure whether the boy was really speaking. Only the fact that the boy's lips moved proved that Gaia wasn't imagining things.

"You're so tired,"the boy was saying, voice barely audible. "But where was all the energy you were born with? Surely you remember that still? Being born, taking your first breaths. Even the air was full of magic then. Think back. One breath of air gave you enough energy for the day, but there was enough for more than just one breath. You didn't even understand what weariness was, did you. Life was your energy, all the rest you ever needed…"

The horse reared its head, whinnying loudly. The boy let his arms slide off and backed away as the horse, apparently inspired, whinnied again. Sweat flew as it shook its mane out, and then it began circling Gaia, nudging at him as if eager to continue the trip. Astonished, Gaia looked around. All the other horses looked just as energized, prodding their bewildered riders forward with the light-hearted impatience of puppies.

"What did you do?" said Gaia, but the boy had resumed his blank look. He was sitting on the ground, playing with a few pebbles. When Gaia lifted the boy to his horse once more, he again went without protest.

"What did you do?" Gaia repeated, raising his voice, and the boy frowned at him, as if offended by the sharpness of the words.

"I put the colt back in him," he said, as they began riding again.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gaia asked, but there was no response. He looked over to find the boy asleep, while under him and around him, the horses thundered on, energetic and playful as on the day they were born.

* * *

"Pharaoh." 

"Ryuuji," the pharaoh acknowledged, not looking up from what he was doing. He was sitting, a wooden slab in one hand, a brush in the other. A pot of what appeared to be ink rested by his feet. On the piece of wood was a sheet of papyrus paper, though Ryuuji couldn't tell what the pharaoh was writing on it—being able to read wasn't exactly an important life skill. Whatever the words meant, though, they were rather intimidating. Being written busily at gave the impression of 'You're not worth my attention,' and at the same time managed to imply that everything you said was being taken down and would, at a later date, be dug up again to be used against you.

Ryuuji decided not to let it bother him, however. "You sent for me?" he asked, with a pompous quirk of his eyebrow.

"I did," said the pharaoh, still not looking up. "How fortunate it is that you happened to be around."

Of course Ryuuji never just happened to be around. He had been waiting in the Syrian camp nearly a week for the pharaoh to arrive.

"I had wanted to talk to you about the last few pieces of information you gave me," continued the pharaoh slowly, almost lazily, as he drew a long, dark slash across his paper with a flick of his wrist.

Ryuuji froze. Had he given the pharaoh _incorrect_ information? If that was the case, Ryuuji was as good as dead. With the swiftness of thinking he was known for, Ryuuji went through his options. If he bolted now, it would raise suspicion. It might give the pharaoh the impression that the information Ryuuji had given was _intentionally_ false, which would make a bad situation even worse. Most likely orders had been given to have guards posted around the tent as well, so escape wouldn't have been possible. And, assuming that he somehow managed to make it back to the Syrian camp, the pharaoh would probably send an envoy after him, to spread the word that their trustworthy archer and expert dice master Ryuuji had not only been gambling from them their life savings, a dislikable but not highly illegal crime, but that he had also been feeding information to the enemy. The Syrian king would not like that at all, oh no…

If, on the other hand, he stayed, he would also be in a whole lot of trouble, because the pharaoh would not have liked getting wrong information, and Ryuuji, being a Syrian spy and not an Egyptian at all, would have even _less_ of a chance of surviving with everything attached—

He suddenly realized that the pharaoh had stopped writing and had instead begun radiating amusement. Ryuuji applied himself to calming down.

"What about it?" he asked cautiously.

The pharaoh looked up. On a less dignified person, the shape his mouth formed might have been identified as a grin. "You told me that your people had bought off the commander of my fifth regiment, am I right?"

_That was wrong?_ thought Ryuuji. _But it took me_ hours _of flirting with that man to find out…_ and _I had to buy him a drink!_

"Yes," he said aloud.

"You were absolutely correct," said the pharaoh. "And were it not for you, your countrymen and my fifth regiment would now be ransacking Tanis as we speak, the capture of which city would have devastated Egypt strategically."

Ryuuji gaped.

"If you have any more similar information, I would love to hear it," continued the pharaoh, and now Ryuuji knew he wasn't just imagining the amusement playing at the pharaoh's voice.

"Y-yeah, um," said Ryuuji, relief momentarily paralyzing his vocal cords. He forced himself to continue. "They tried to buy off your fourth regiment too, but your commander refused."

The pharaoh smiled. "And where are they getting so much money, do you suppose?"

"We seem to have a new leader," said Ryuuji. "Crazy guy. He just marched into camp a few nights ago, and he had _piles_ of treasure. Scepters, goblets, that kind of thing. All solid gold."

"Really," said the pharaoh, leaning forward. "And he gained support by promising reward?"

"That, and he threatened that we'd get eaten if we didn't listen to him."

"Eaten by what?"

"Well, after he came, one man wondered aloud what was preventing him from just killing the newcomer and taking all his things. Then there was this slithering sound, and a huge serpent came down from the trees. It was enormous, I'm telling you. I probably couldn't wrap my arms around its middle even if it held still long enough for me to try."

"What did it look like?" said the pharaoh, intrigued. "What did it do?"

"It looked like a snake, really. Just bigger. Its scales were a mix of colors—bright green and some brown—in poisonous swirls on a white background. An off sort of white. It was almost nauseating to look at, the color. Nearer to the head the colors darkened, and at the tip of its nose it was black like pitch. Its eyes were camouflaged in the dark colors, but you could see them glitter if they caught the firelight just the right way. I mean, the whole body was glossy, but the eyes were… slightly different. And it had a long, flicking tongue. Scared people almost to death when it lashed out at them."

"And did it eat them?"

"Oh, no. No, it just coiled loosely around the guy and looked at everybody, like it was sizing them up for its dinner. And then it opened its mouth, and it had these long fangs, really sharp, and you could see the bulging venom sacs…"

"And then?"

"And then it disappeared," said Ryuuji.

"You mean it left quickly?"

"No. It just vanished. Like it was never there."

The pharaoh frowned. "Did you at least check for an imprint? Any mark the snake might have left on the ground?"

"Yes, I did. They were there, all right. At first I didn't see any, but suddenly, they were right there—huge grooves in the earth, with scratch lines from the scales… I really don't know how I'd managed to miss them before. Oh, but he caught me looking."

"Who?"

"The newcomer. Our new leader." Ryuuji did not say 'duh.' Getting paid was on his list of priorities. Being fed to crocodiles was not.

"I see," said the pharaoh. "And do you have any idea how he managed to make the snake appear?"

"Well… I think he might have… special abilities." Yes, that was a good euphemism for 'Gift.'

"And what might those be?" said the pharaoh.

"The ability to summon snakes?" suggested Ryuuji.

"Hm," said the pharaoh noncommittally. "Did you notice anything else unusual when he summoned the snake?"

"Besides a snake big enough to swallow this tent appearing? No, not really."

"No cold, no purple fog, no sudden feeling of immense weariness?"

"No," said Ryuuji, who knew better than to ask.

"Where is the snake-summoner now?"

"I don't know," said Ryuuji. In contrast to many others Ryuuji had spied for, the pharaoh did not strike him down where he stood for not knowing something, one of the reasons Ryuuji actually felt some loyalty to the pharaoh. "He left right after the snake disappeared, I think to get more support from some of our other camps."

"I see. What did you say this man's name was?"

"I didn't. He calls himself 'Touzoku Ou.'"

"Touzoku Ou," repeated the pharaoh. "Let me know immediately if he makes any claim to being related to me."

"Tell you if he says he's family. Got it." Ryuuji twirled a strand of hair.

"Was there anything else?" said the pharaoh.

"Yes—Crawford."

"The ruler of the Hittites?" asked the pharaoh.

"Yes, that's right. He's had something to do with one of your men… Pandora, I think."

"What sort of something to do?"

"It seemed like he was trying to convince Pandora to do something. I'm not too sure about the details."

"When?"

"Earlier today. Maybe noon."

"But Crawford wasn't personally speaking with Pandora."

"No, he sent a messenger. I couldn't catch the message, though."

"I see," said the pharaoh. "I will need to have a talk with the both of them, then. Fortunately, Crawford and his son will be paying me a visit in two days, for negotiations on irrigation or something like that…" The pharaoh trailed off. "Is there more?"

"That's it," said Ryuuji.

Nodding, the pharaoh set down paper and brush. "You may not want to stay too long, then," he said. "The fighting is about to begin."

* * *

"Sir! It's the Egyptians, sir," said a young man, wearing a jacket with the sleeves torn off. 

"What about them?" said Sir.

"They're here," said the sleeve-hater. "They've set up camp barely minutes away."

"Really," said Sir, who'd found that, even with the enemy breathing down your neck, it always paid to take the extra moment to think things through. "And are all of our soldiers present and accounted for, Kajiki?"

"All but one," said Kajiki.

"Who's the one?" asked Sir.

"It's Ryuuji, sir. He's missing."

"Otogi?" Sir frowned, presumably recalling several instances in which he'd watched his money disappear into Otogi's pocket with a roll of the die. "No big loss," he said. "He's probably off swindling more hard-earned wages. Tell the men to—"

But what it was Kajiki was supposed to tell the men was lost as the words died on Sir's tongue.

Out in the darkness, a light had bloomed, followed by another, and another, and then the night was filled with speckles of light, and the entire camp was surrounded by torches. The sight was enough to make any man's heart stop. Without warning, the torches began to descend upon them in huge waves of flickering light, which did not illuminate their enemies very well, only glinted off unsheathed swords and chariot wheels.

A horse reared up directly in front of Sir and Kajiki, the distinctive figure of the pharaoh of Egypt looming up behind it.

"Nice camp you have here," said the pharaoh. "Mind if we take it?"

With a dramatic motion, the pharaoh lifted his sword into the air—

—and then all the other torches were upon them.


End file.
